


Clubs & Kisses - Drarry

by Uraverageshipper666



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Crying, Crying Draco Malfoy, Death, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, First Kiss, M/M, Narcissa Black Malfoy Dies, Performer, Singing, a fuckshit ton of angst, after the war, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28888143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uraverageshipper666/pseuds/Uraverageshipper666
Summary: Harry was out at a bar, on the 2nd of November, 2 days after his birthday, when he saw the boy he’d been in love with since the stressful years of adolescence.Draco had gone to perform at his favourite Muggle club, when he was reunited with the insatiable boy who’d filled his life in his painful youth.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk how many parts this will be

Part 1

BACK STORY:

BREAKING NEWS: NOTORIOUS EX-DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY SEEN PERFORMING AT MUGGLE BAR; MUGGLES IN DANGER?

Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, 21, was spotted playing piano and singing on-stage at a Muggle club, just outside King Cross, and the Muggles seem to absolutely love his presence. We only managed to catch a few of the words he was saying, but they seem to be referring to his disgraceful years as a Death Eater, in cohorts with the Dark Lord. 

“R.I.P. to my youth  
If you really listen, then this is to you  
Mama, there…”

Many people have speculated that Malfoy has become more comfortable with Muggles, due to the use of the Muggle saying ‘R.I.P’, which stands for Rest In Peace, most usually used when talking about a loved one who has died. His blatant reference to his dead mother seems to invoke thought that he never really cared about her, which makes absolute sense to anyone who had the displeasure of being in the same year as him at Hogwarts. We interviewed some young men and women who wholly agreed that Draco Malfoy really never did care about his mother, or really, anyone.

“Malfoy was a dick to us all, and he’s a bloody curse to anyone who’s had to be in the same class as him. We all saw his reaction when he heard the news that his mother had passed away, he simply left, sauntering out of the room, not even a sliver of emotion on his face. It really is believable that he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone, including his parents.” - Ernie McMillan

“He’s honestly such a dick, I was at a club once and offered him something, and he refused. Like anyone would ever do anything for him again.” - Hannah Abbott

Many others have come forward with their two cents on the matter, and with these blatant responses and witnesses, we can conclude that Draco Malfoy is up to no good, and everyone should be extremely wary around this long-lasting danger.

Now, onto our most recent sighting of Ginny Weasley, ex-girlfriend of our hero, Harry Potter…


	2. Part 2

BACK TO STORY

Draco Malfoy got absolutely no sleep all week, and he wasn’t surprised at all. He’s always had a problem with sleeping, what with his abusive father and after that a cruel and ruthless Voldemort living and sleeping in the same place as him, it’s really no wonder that the first time he went to a healer about it, he was diagnosed with insomnia (LIKE ME). 

But this time, insomnia wasn’t the only reason for the lack of sleep. It was this 21 years ago (I’m making Draco younger than Harry, idgaf, Dray’s a Scorpio), when a boy was born, and that one birth had ruined his whole existence. Then, 17 years later, his father had been sentenced to Azkaban, which had been the cause of his mother’s death exactly 2 years later. So really, it was safe to say that Draco Malfoy hated the months of October and November with an aggressiveness that could only be borne out of immense trauma. 

Draco POV

I got up at 1:16 on Sunday, with helpless tears streaming onto my cheeks and body feverish with sweat, all the side-effects of a bone-chilling nightmare. I got a lot of those though, I guess I was used to it. 

Wiping my eyes redundantly to stop the unrelenting flow of tears, I uncorked a vial of shockingly blue liquid and tipped my head back, letting the calming sweetness soothe my aching throat. 

My legs swung jerkingly, hitting the sides of the bed sporadically and sending a numbing shockwave of pain coursing through my body. I welcomed the physical pain, it kept away the demons running astray in my mind. 

I let the pain envelop me like a burning blanket before coming to terms with the effects of the potion. It was a potion I’d developed myself, at the ripe age of 13, a nourishment drought mixed with an energy potion, which kept me awake and my body standing. 

My fingers were trembling as always, as I groped around on the dark nightstand to find my wand, and when I did reach it, I almost dropped it before casting a small Lumos that lit up my small apartment bedroom. 

The trembling was most likely a combination of the after-effects of years of endless Crucio’s and the shock that was slowly wearing off after another nightmare, and while normally I could cast many consecutive wandless spells, I knew that they were tricky and required immense concentration, and I very much lacked that right now. 

I stood up shakily, welcoming the stiff cramping of my joints, and slowly made my way out of my room, keeping a firm grip on my wand, even though I knew logically that there couldn’t be anyone there. 

I quickly banished all thoughts of my mother, even after 2 years her death hit fast and hard, and I knew all too well the consequences of losing control while in such a state. I’m notorious among landlords for blowing up houses in fits of desperate, red-hot rage. 

Sighing softly, I got up to go for a run. Going for a run seemed to calm me down sometimes, get my mind off things such as my horribly life. I opened the large, boxy window that took up most of my wall, shivering as the cool autumn air hit my bare body.

When I was younger, I used to sleep with clothes covering every inch of me at all times, because I knew that if Father wanted to take his anger out on me, he wouldn’t wait for me to have a great night’s sleep. 

But now, I’d gotten into the habit of sleeping in shorts and an oversized T-shirt, usually both black or jade green. I wanted to put my past behind me, and if this was the way to do it, alright. 

I knew it was a Sunday, so I didn’t have to go to St. Mungo’s to work as a Healer. I’d travelled to the US to study for being a Healer at Ilvermorny, and my N.E.W.T’s far surpassed the ones needed to be a healer, as to be a healer it is required to have an Exceeds Expectations or Outstanding at: Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts, at which I got Outstandings in all of them except for Charms, at which I got Exceeds Expectations. 

Many people didn’t get to do the N.E.W.T’s, because they were fighting in the war. But I knew Mother would’ve been extremely disappointed if I did not do well, and so I put everything I had into studying, and trying to balance the brutal exam revision with The Dark Lord, I relied on the potion I’d made to sleep, which in turn made me sick, tired and just generally an asshole. Year 7 was an all-round nightmare. 

Of course, I never got over the effects of the Suctumsempra curse that was thrown at me by Potter (POTTAH), because despite Uncle Sev’s attempts to heal it, it left scarring and sometimes ghost pains, that have still never gone away fully. But I know, I really do deserve it. I was about to Crucio someone, even more importantly I was going to Crucio Harry Potter. The same person who’d been abused his whole life, about to do the same thing to someone else. Honestly, I deserved the Sectumsempra. I deserved everything.

I slipped out of my apartment into the chilly night air in a black sweatshirt and gray track pants, hoping that against all odds I would see no one I knew. Usually I’d simply take whatever hex or curse that was thrown at me, in futile hopes that they’d leave me alone, but today I was out of control, anything might set me off. I’d left my wand back home, just in case, but being a Healer meant that wandless magic was your ride-or-die in all situations, so it wasn’t much of a help.

Strolling briskly through the paved roads of London, I hugged my shivering body for a few minutes then broke into a run, hoping there was no one on the path to bump into. There were bars still open, so maybe I could go perform in one of them in an hour or so. 

I first played the piano when I was 3, a day after my Father had slapped and punched me for the first time. There was a large bruise on my face, and I needed something to get my mind off it.

I’d wandered into the music room, which I didn’t know even existed until then, and saw a large, grand piano sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by other instruments, and felt an inexplicable urge to go try it out, see what would happen. Oh, the curiosity of youth. 

Tripping over my own feet in excitement, it took me a few minutes to actually get on the stool, after which I swept the black velvet sheet off, and stood up, placing my pudgy hands against the keys. I just pressed every key, and it sounded horrible, but I fell in love with the tinkling joy that radiated off the instrument.

From then on, I’ve loved the piano, and when I moved to America to study, I’d become a sort of local star, as I’d started writing my own songs. My roommate, Magnus, was a great cello player, and so there I learnt to play the violin as well, so I could play both piano and violin exceptionally, and most of my songs were performed with simply an acoustic piano, sometimes with a friend of mine, James, playing the drums to accompany. 

Settling into my new schedule to go and perform at my favourite bar, I kept on jogging for another half-hour, after which I apparated back home, and collapsed on the floor from the wandless magic and brutal exercise. By then it was already 2 in the morning, so I showered, blow-dried my hair so it fell in wisps around my face, and didn’t bother gelling it back as I usually did for work. I then got ready in my signature outfit, dark blue dress shirt and suit pants, and a black oversized hoodie. 

Grabbing some water from my miniscule kitchen, I downed the glass then grabbed my wand and apparated right outside my favourite Muggle bar. Then, slipping my wand into the pocket in my sleeve, I blew the hair out of my face and walked in, slipping amongst the crowd of men and women talking, dancing, kissing, and in one or two extreme cases, fucking. 

I looked for the manager, who usually let me play if I wanted to. Guy’s nice, name’s Sebastian, 26 or 27 years old. He recently proposed to his wife, so I’d gotten him some condoms as an engagement present. You know, because I could. He almost killed me after it. What more did he expect?

“Sebastian!” I yelled over the deafening sound, hoping to see the rugged strawberry-blonde hair soon. Then, I felt someone grip the bottom of my hoodie and I swirled around, pulling my hood up to obscure my face. Sebastian’s ragged face stood in front of me, shooting me a smile while pulling a beautiful black woman with dark, frizzy hair into his side.

“Malfoy, what ya doin mate?” said Sebastian in a raspy voice. “This my wife Melanie, she’s been wanting to meet our rising star for a while now.”   
“Hello” I replied tersely, pulling my hood further down my face.  
“Hi, I’m this idiot’s wife, call me Melanie” came the sunny answer from Melanie. She seemed nice. She held her hand out for a handshake, and my fingers trembled as I obliged.   
“I’ve wanted to meet you for a while, what’s all this about being a performer?” she said in a querying tone.   
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk about with you, Sebastian. Could I perform a few songs today?”  
“I was waiting to hear something great today, of course you can my boy, do you need James this time?”  
“Maybe later, but for the first few songs I don’t think I’ll need any drum beats, but thank you”.

I ran off to go drag the beautiful ebony grand piano onto the stage. Thankfully, it was on wheels. Then, grabbing a stool, microphone stand and mic, I threw my hoodie onto the ground and settled onto the stage, feeling an empowering, liberating rush of adrenaline course through my body before tapping the mic twice.   
“May I have your attention?”


	3. Part 3

Harry POV

I ran away from the horde of screaming girls (and boys) who were chasing after me, turning corner after corner. All I wanted to do was go for a run, not a fucking marathon being chased by terrifying predatory fangirls.

Thankfully, my job as an Auror made sure that I was much fitter than most people, so I swiftly outran them onto an intersection of roads, and after a quick look, apparated back into the apartment I shared with Ron and Hermione. 

Quickly stripping from my sweat-soaked clothes, I looked out the window. There weren’t a lot of people, except for one lone man walking in the direction of a pub in a black hoodie and suit pants.

The man seemed familiar, and it was only until I got a glimpse of the hair that I recognised him. Malfoy?!! What would he be doing, walking to a pub in the middle of the night? I needed to know. 

He seems different though, I mused to myself while pulling on my most bar-worthy outfit: a tight white T-shirt, black leather pants and a leather jacket. Malfoy’s hair wasn’t gelled back like it was at Hogwarts, it fell around his face, blowing into his face and swirling with the wind. He was wearing Muggle clothing, for one, and he radiated a different energy. 

At Hogwarts, he stood up, always, and emitted confidence and power, much like his bastard father, Lucius Malfoy. Now, he seemed to shrink into himself, he seemed to be trying to not be noticed. I guess, Lucius was dead, I remember reading in the Daily Prophet that he died in Azkaban, a year after being sentenced to a life of Azkaban. As far as I remember, his mother wasn’t alive either. She’d died only two years ago. Wait, that meant Malfoy didn’t have any family.

Fuck, that must suck, I thought to myself. I mean, I’d lost a lot of people in the war, but I’d also gained people, like my best friends Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Neville and many others. 

Eh, He deserved it, I let myself think, before grabbing my wand and apparating straight into the bar. Not the best idea. People all around me gasped, but I ignored them, looking for a certain blond. I was fine to wait, but this was one of the first times I’d seen Malfoy for a while.

After I’d testified for both him and his mother at their trial, Malfoy had come a few days later and thanked me. After that, I’d seen him at Hogwarts. Then, when I went to Narcissa Malfoy’s funeral, I’d seen him, and he’d looked so painfully broken, like his life was falling apart, like nothing would ever be alright again. In a twisted way, it reminded me of myself. But those were the only times I’d seen him after the War, and apparently no one had seen him for a while.

I watched the door carefully, and soon enough, a lithe figure stepped in, and called something out. Then, he turned around and conversed with a man and woman. 

I stepped forward subtly and walked till I was close enough to hear what Malfoy and the man was saying. I only caught wisps of the conversation, but they were confusing.

Malfoy said, in a voice quieter than I imagined: “-perform a song today?”  
Random Dude with weird hair: “-waiting something great, James?”  
Malfoy: “-later, drums, thank you”.

I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, and I didn’t like it. What would Malfoy be doing in a Muggle bar? And why would he know these two people? What was with ‘performing’? 

Suddenly, Malfoy ran ahead, onto the stage. No one seemed to pay him much attention, while my eyes were glued to his back (ass) as he dragged a piano from the curtained corner of the stage. What would Malfoy want with a piano?

I was even more shocked when he grabbed a stool and a microphone stand, and then a microphone. What was he doing? Was he going to perform? Definitely not. Maybe he was getting it ready for someone else? 

But then, Malfoy sat on the stool behind the piano and tore off his hoodie, stretching his arms above his head, which revealed a strip of pale skin at the hem of his trousers. Then, he THREW the hoodie on the ground, before closing his eyes for a split second. I ran forward, but stopped before I got too close. Malfoy couldn’t know I was here. That would ruin it. But wait, what was ‘it’? I’d always had an unhealthy obsession with Malfoy, but I thought it had gone after I didn’t see him for so long. Apparently not. I suppressed a distressed groan at the thought.

Malfoy tapped the mic twice, before saying in a low voice; “May I have your attention please?”. Everyone turned around, took a good look at him, before cheering. CHEERING. FOR MALFOY. LIKE THEY’D ALREADY SEEN HIM. AND KNEW HIM. WHAT? 

Malfoy shifted a bit, which let me see his shirt that was previously hidden by the hoodie. He was wearing a sparkling midnight blue dress shirt, which floated around his body, outlining his slim torso. Wait, what the fuck was I thinking? 

I concentrated on Malfoy, again.


	4. Part 4

3rd Person POV

Draco looked up, closing his eyes, and then looked at the throng of people staring intently at him.   
“Hello. I’m Draco, and I’m here to play a song that I wrote a few days ago. This song is called ‘everything i wanted’, and it’s dedicated to my mother, who passed away a few years ago. Love you Mère (Mother in French)”. 

Harry stood, stunned. Draco Malfoy, a musician? Writing music? For his mother? What? But he seemed to be serious, because he placed his long, slim fingers on the piano keys, and opened his mouth and started singing.

“I had a dream  
I got everything I wanted  
Not what you'd think  
And if I'm being honest  
It might've been a nightmare  
To anyone who might care  
Thought I could fly   
So I stepped off the Golden  
Nobody cried   
Nobody even noticed  
I saw them standing right there  
Kinda thought they might care”

Harry’s jaw dropped, mesmerised, and when he looked around everyone was intently watching Malfoy onstage, hands flowing across the piano beautifully. His voice was absolutely stunning, and the lyrics were heartbreaking. Was this what Malfoy was hiding the whole time?

“I had a dream  
I got everything I wanted  
But when I wake up, I see  
You with me”

His mother definitely meant more to him than Harry, or anyone, had ever imagined. The pain in his voice was absolutely heart wrenching, it was tangible in the awestruck air of the crowd, who’d all gathered to watch the boy sway across the piano, spilling his heart out. 

“And you say, “As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you”  
Don't wanna lie here, but you can learn to  
If I could change the way that you see yourself  
You wouldn't wonder why you hear  
They don't deserve you”

Draco’s eyes started to water, and he tried to blink the rebellious tears away, but didn’t succeed. Tears slipped down his face, but he sang as beautifully as ever. He just missed his mother so much. She was his first friend, and his last. Her gentle kindness, her powerful demeanour, her loving hugs, everything about her Draco missed. 

But she was so misunderstood. They didn’t understand his mother. They thought her a fool, for marrying Lucius and bringing Draco into it. But Draco did everything for his mother. He got the Dark Mark for his mother. He survived year 7 for his mother. He became a healer for his mother. He played for his mother. He sang for his mother. He lived for his mother, and she was gone. 

“I tried to scream  
But my head was underwater  
They called me weak  
Like I'm not just somebody's child  
Could’ve been a nightmare  
But it felt like they were right there  
And it feels like yesterday was a year ago  
But I don't wanna let anybody know  
'Cause everybody wants something from me now  
And I don't wanna let them down”

Harry almost fell over, and his jaw dropped to the floor when he saw the tears coursing down Malfoy’s pale, angular face. He’d never realised this, this painful, empty, dangerous atmosphere was what Malfoy had been feeling for so long. 

But Malfoy’s voice never faltered. It sounded choked up, full of emotion, struggling to hold in something, something powerful and furious and raging. But he never   
stopped singing the melancholic lyrics, never stopped his fingers from flying across the keys, never stopped.   
“I had a dream  
I got everything I wanted  
But when I wake up, I see  
You with me”

Draco would trade everything for his mother. He’d give up his whole life, just for another glimpse of the powerful, beautiful woman who’d been the sole reason for Draco’s survival. When everything and everyone else was against him, his mother held him in her gentle, lovely arms, and said “Tant que je suis ici, personne ne te fera de mal” (as long as I’m here, no one will hurt you). 

And, in some ways, she kept her promise. Until she’d died, nothing anyone else really did hurt him, as long as he had his mother to go back to, he’d get through anything. But now, she was gone. And all this, the singing, the playing, the healing, nothing he ever did would bring her back. 

“And you say, "As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you  
Don't wanna lie here, but you can learn to  
If I could change the way that you see yourself  
You wouldn't wonder why you hear  
'They don't deserve you'”

Draco had never let himself drive properly. No matter how much he tried, he could never let himself let go, give himself up. He’d never quite let go of the toxic masculinity that his father had ingrained in him at such a young child. 

Losing his mother had broken him, he was a shattered vessel, never quite able to carry the weight of the world he bared on his shoulders. Draco never let himself get over the trauma of the first 17 years of his life, living with his father, who constantly used spells and sometimes his own limbs to abuse his own child.

Living with Voldemort, who used Draco’s mother as a hostage of some sort, a bargaining chip to win over Draco’s mind, had fucked him up majorly. Voldemort, who called Draco in every time one of his plans failed simply to Crucio the fuck out of his body, his mind. The after-effects of all this torture still affected him, both physically and mentally.

What does it take to get over such trauma? Draco didn’t know.

But writing was a saviour for him. His songs were stories, pictures, memories of his life. Eventually, he’d gotten a reputation from writing and singing, but he turned down every offer to sign him to Record Labels and promote him or anything like that. 

Draco didn’t write for popularity. He didn’t want popularity. He wrote to get his feelings out, sort out the mess that was his life. He wrote because he wanted to keep the memory of his mother alive. He wrote because writing saved him from the hellhole filled with demons that was his mind, his head, his soul.

One day, he wanted to find a bloke who would make him happy, who would understand the whirlwind that was him, who would love him for being just him, but those fantasies had killed him once, and they would kill him again.

Draco still remembers when he came out to his mother. He’d simply said,   
“Mother, I like men, not women”. He hadn’t been nervous, but he didn’t know why. Maybe he knew on the inside that his mother was too perfect to be impacted by such things. Her reply to this day reminded him of what an amazing woman she was. “Yes Draco, no shit”. It hadn’t been the first time Draco had heard his mother swear, but it was the most momentous. 

“If I knew it all then, would I do it again?  
Would I do it again?  
If they knew what they said would go straight to my head  
What would they say instead?  
If I knew it all then, would I do it again?  
Would I do it again?  
If they knew what they said would go straight to my head  
What would they say instead?”

This part of the song had been an add-on. It was about all the rumours he’d heard about himself and his parents. He’d heard and seen the many articles and stories about him, his mother and what their life was like. And it had affected him much more than people realised, his mental health suicided much longer before he tried to. 

You could say he was better. Writing was a paradise for him, a saviour. But he’d become numb, in a way, to the world. He carried on on Autopilot, never really being able to muster up the mental strength to care. He simply couldn’t care about the rumours, he couldn’t feel. His mother’s death completely and utterly destroyed him, but “would he do it again?”. Yes, he would. Because his mother left her mark on him, and one day, he’d get better. One day. 

Unbeknownst to him, today would be the day he started the process of getting better.


	5. Part 5

Harry POV

Malfoy stood up after a few seconds of silence, wiping his eyes, and moved towards the microphone. Then, in a soft, shaky voice, he said “I’ll be back to perform soon, thank you”. He then grabbed the hoodie lying on the floor and escaped backwards, while the blonde dude Malfoy was talking to before kept the crowd out of wherever Malfoy was. Ha, lucky for me, I have magic.

I grabbed my wand and apparated behind the curtains, then looked around. It was pitch black here, maybe like a dressing room or something. Slowly, I pushed my hands outwards and followed the wall, until I reached a hallway. There was a dim light down the hallway, so I ran down it, hoping Malfoy was there.

Apparently, even Malfoy hadn’t gotten ‘there’. He was leaning against the wall, and as I watched, gripped against the wall, like he was trying to clutch onto something. Then, he slid down the wall and pulled his knees to his chest, disappearing into the large hoodie that swallowed him completely. 

I could hear soft, muffled sobs coming from Malfoy, and for some inexplicable reason, felt like I needed to comfort him. I didn’t know him very well, but he looked broken, pulled apart. The sobs grew fractionally louder and he started pulling at the wisps of hair that escaped the hood. I could hear broken words that escaped the brutal sobs, muffled whispers of ‘why’ muttered over and over again. Once again, I felt the need to comfort him, the urge to go over and hold him in my arms, and tell him “I’m here”. What the fuck was happening to me?

Draco POV

After singing the song, I felt the emotion in my heart trying to squeeze out, I had to go and calm down, I had to go. 

I stood up and whispered, my voice trembling, that I would be back to perform, then thanked them. Then, grabbing my hoodie that was lying abandoned on the floor, I ran the fuck away from them all, trying to control the tears fighting against my eyes. 

After reaching the hallway, I just couldn’t. The pain overwhelmed me again, and I grasped the wall, trying to get a firm grip onto something, trying not to keel over right then and there. 

Then, without warning, my knees buckled and I slid to the floor, bringing my knees to my chest in classic fetal position. I tried to take comfort from the warmth of my hoodie, tried to concentrate on something but the dark heartache coursing through my veins. 

I was pathetic. It had been 2 years and I still hadn’t gotten over it. My mother’s death still made me dissolve into tears, absolutely pathetic. Why couldn’t I have just died before? Why did I have to live on like this, struggling, hurting, suffering? Why couldn’t I just end it all?

Suddenly, I heard soft footsteps making their way towards my huddled form. I hoped it was just some random stranger, but apart from that I couldn’t bring myself to care. Everyone already saw my pathetic performance outside. Honestly, what do I have to lose anyway? 

I looked up, and I could not believe my fucking eyes. Harry Potter?!! Potter?! Potter from Hogwarts, 4 years ago? What the fuck would he be doing here? Wait, he saw all of that. A wizard saw my performance outside. Potter saw my performance outside. My breathing sped up and I hid my face, hoping he’d leave, run away.

He made his way over, and then did something I’ll never forget. He knelt down and sat on the floor, crossing his legs slowly. 

“What are you doing Potter?” I said, trying to sound incredulous, but it came out shaky and trembling. I dug my face into my hoodie again, hoping he would just go away. 

“Malfoy. Uh, um, are you alright?” came the stilted, awkward reply from Potter.

“Go away Potter, just go away” I said, trying furiously to hold back the tears rolling down my face. “Just leave”. I blinked furiously and dug my fingers into the leather heel of my Doc Martens, closing my eyes against a particularly strong wave of pain coursing from my head. Everything sounded muffled, and a broken sob escaped my lips when a wave of aching forced me to tip my head back into the walls.

Immediately, I placed a hand over my mouth in a vain attempt to muffle the noise of the subsequent cries and whimpers that escaped my lips as the pounding in my head grew stronger and my chest started aching. 

Then, I felt firm, strong arms wrap around my chest from the side, and for a few seconds I could do nothing but blink against the rapid tears, before a dam broke, and I let my hands fold in front of my chest, palms splayed, and my head fell forward onto Potter’s shoulder. 

I didn’t even care that it was Potter of all people who was holding me tightly and rubbing soothing circles on my back. I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and 21 years of suppressed rage, heartbreak, pain and aching made its way out of my system. 

Harry POV

I held Malfoy in my arms, against all my better judgement, and pulled him forward, letting his head fall onto my shoulder, letting him muffle his horribly, animalistic sobs against my shirt. I wasn’t thinking straight, that much was clear. Why was Malfoy crying into my shoulder?

Small whimpers escaped every few seconds as brutal sobs wracked his slender, shaking frame. I pulled him even closer, then onto my lap. He wasn’t very heavy at all, which was concerning. I let his long, slim legs wrap around my waist, and was shocked to hear the sobs becoming even more powerful, if that were even possible. 

It was heartbreaking, seeing such a confident man break down in tears. The fact that he’d been through so much, and no one had noticed, no one had cared, no one knew at all that Malfoy was struggling through so much. 

The War left its mark on everyone, and I of course am no exception. For the first 5 or 6 months, I had frequent panic attacks, nightmares, raging ‘episodes’. But never did I think it affected Malfoy so much. I’d read what they usually publish in The Daily Prophet about Malfoy, and they were all things along the lines 0f ‘he doesn’t care about anything or anyone’, and I’m ashamed to say I believed their stupid rumours and lies, like every other stupid unsuspecting victim.

Malfoy...no, Draco didn’t look to be any calmer, if anything his sobbing had increased, and I felt a minute pain ripple across my body from where his nails dug into my shoulder blades through my T-shirt, which was rapidly being soaked with tears. 

Malfoy tightened his arms around my shoulders and dug his face into my shirt, and I hesitantly brought my arms up from where they were lying uselessly and awkwardly near my legs, and they wrapped around his thin waist, holding him against my chest as his body shook with agonising sobs.

I was shocked to realise that I could clearly feel his ribs through the dark blue satin shirt, and I tightened the loose grip I had on him, and just let him cry, let the emotion run out of him like a river flowing out after the opening of a floodgate. 

I didn’t let myself think about how awkward this was, just concentrated on holding him snug against me as he cried and cried and cried for what seemed to be the first time in months.


	6. Part 6

Draco POV

For some reason, Potter made me feel safe for the first time in years. I don’t know how, or why, but Potter made me feel the same way my mother used to make me feel.

This train of thought immediately makes me sob harder. I’m not a pathological crier, I’m really not. But sometimes, I just needed to let the pain and heartache that I’d stowed away in the deepest, darkest depths of my heart out. 

I tried to stop crying, then felt warm hands wrap around my waist and was once again overwhelmed with another rush of pounding, earth-shattering grief. I dug my fingers into Potter’s shoulder through his shirt, wondering why I felt so secure, so warm and safe, in my mortal enemy’s arms. 

Then, the pounding became so much worse, increased in my head, in my heart. I couldn’t stop sobbing, I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. I tried to lift my head but immediately cried out, any movement in any direction hurt.

Immediately, my chest started aching, my heart a hummingbird beneath my rib-cage, and I pressed into Potter to make it stop, make the shattering pain stop, but it didn’t. 

I couldn’t stop the helpless, broken words that escaped my mouth, a repeated cry of “make it stop, please, make it stop”, and it just hurt so much, everything hurt. Nausea was starting to overtake my senses. 

I knew I would never forgive myself if I puked on Potter, but I couldn’t do anything but fall backwards, and a once again a stomach-turning rush of nausea forced me off Potter and onto my knees, head falling onto my shirt, dry-heaving and gasping, but nothing came out, which seemed to make the nausea worse, and I continued on heaving and whimpering, the pain an iron vice around my libs, everything from all senses muffled.

It’s not like I ate very much for me to throw up anyway, I don’t even remember the last time I ate, and a small, minimal part of my mind tried to warn me of something, but I don’t know what. 

My clothes were restricting me, the hoodie much too warm, and my body seemed to be much too hot to be normal. My chest was throbbing constantly, my head pounding, and I couldn’t stop the broken whispers of “please, make it stop”. 

I tried to move my hands, tried to get my fingers to cooperate and grip the hem of my hoodie, but they continued their vice-like grip on my trousers, my fingers trembling pathetically as I continued my soft cries of pain, hoping that someone could make the pain stop.

Then, my saviour came in the form of firm, strong hands gripping the hem of my hoodie and pulling it over my head, and I could do nothing but fall back onto Potter’s chest. 

But I still felt overwhelmingly warm, and the nausea didn’t recede, and when a particularly strong wave of throbbing pulsed through my head, my trembling fingers tugged my blue dress-shirt up, hoping Potter would get the message and help.

Harry POV

Malfoy continued sobbing into my shoulder, his fist bunched into the back of my shirt, nails digging in painfully, but I concentrated on keeping my arms snug around his sickly-thin waist.

The pure pain radiating from his animalistic cries almost made tears stream down my face, but I shook my head to get rid of them. Why was Malfoy curling into me, when we were mortal enemies, each other’s nemesis? 

He seemed to crave the touch, every part of him was digging almost painfully into me, he seemed to not care that it was ME of all people who was holding him in my hands. Maybe he was touch-starved? 

I remembered 11 year old me, flinching every time Ron would brush against me but secretly craving his hands, secretly craving the simple touch of a friend. The first time Ron had hugged me, I’d simply melted into it, clutching so hard he thought something was wrong, and pulled away, which sent trembles all across my body.

After the War, Ron and Hermione both became much more touchy, not only with each other, but also with me. Just simple hugs, light brushes, small grips, were sometimes the only reason I made it through the day.

The fact that Malfoy was struggling with something this momentous and horrifying made me realise how stupid I was. Just because he fought on the other side of the War doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his own demons to fight, and those demons are simply crawling for a fight. 

This realisation seemed to trigger something in the both of us, as I immediately tightened my arms around him and lifted one to wrap around his upper back, while he fell backwards, then shifted off into his knees, his fingers gripping painfully tight around his thighs, and started retching. I moved off my uncomfortable position on the hard wood on the ground. 

Draco’s fingers started trembling excessively, and lifted towards the hem of his hoodie. I got the hint, because when I used to have excessive panic attacks, the heat seemed to drown me, kill me. 

Hesitantly, I raised my arms to the hem of his hoodie and lifted it off his trembling frame, and tossed it near me, before scrambling to catch him as he fell backwards, the back of his head against my stomach. His chest was still rising and falling much too fast, but the brutal sobs that were ripped out his throat seemed to have slowed and quietened down. 

Whimpers continued to echo through the small hallway, but I paid no attention to the fact that someone could come and find us any minute, or that Draco would be due to perform any moment, instead concentrated on what he seemed to be trying to communicate, his fingers grasping at the blue dress shirt fluttering with every gasping breath.

Slowly, it dawned on me that Draco wanted me to take his shirt off for him, as he couldn’t muster up the energy to do anything but tilt his head back and quietly weep, tears still making their way down his pale cheeks.

I lifted the hem of the satin material, looking for confirmation that this was indeed what Draco needed me to do. I took the miniscule nod as a yes, and slowly lifted the shirt up his chest, my arms twisting uncomfortably with the awkward position. Then, once the shirt was off, I bundled up the silky material and tossed it in a heap next to the hoodie.

Draco Malfoy, my nemesis since day 1, was lying on my lap, naked from the waist up, sobbing harshly, in the middle of a panic attack. What would the press say? 

I smirked at the thought, then sombered as I looked back at the pale face staring back at me, eyes glistening harshly undering the downlights, grey, almost silver orbs staring back at me, filled with a bottomless sadness and grief, a heartbreaking pain. I felt an overwhelming urge to hold him in my arms, make him feel better, make Draco feel alive once more.

Then, his eyes fell softly closed, and I maneuvered us into a more comfortable position, with his head in my lap and his ankles crossed, then pulled us so my back was against a wall. I didn’t know whether he was asleep or not, but I tilted my head back and relaxed my muscles, hoping something good would come out of this encounter.

I thought he fell asleep, but then, I heard something that shocked me to my core.

A soft voice, shaky and trembling, whispered “Harry”.


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one might be a lil short, but I wanted to leave it at a cliffhanger xd

Draco POV

I was trembling softly, no longer burdened by the heat of my hoodie or my jacket, thanks to Potter. 

Why was Potter here? I don’t know, but for some reason, I feel better. Crying usually makes me feel worse, when my brain floods me with thoughts of ‘being a man’ and letting Father down. But this time, for some inexplicable reason, I felt a tiny bit lighter, something I hadn’t truly felt in over 2 years. 

I felt Potter shuffle around, before pulling me into him and tipping his head, in turn arching his back. 

Without thinking, I muttered a soft “Harry”. 

What was I thinking?! It was Potter, not Harry. Potter, my nemesis since day 1. Potter, who’d just helped me through a panic attack, who’d helped me strip, who’d just seen my naked chest, who’d let me sob into his shoulder, who’d pulled me into his lap. Potter. Potter. Potter. Potter. Harry. Potter. Harry. Harry.

I felt him start against me as soon as the word left my mouth, and then, shockingly, felt hands grip my fingers, which were trembling, as usual, in my lap. Harry’s hands were tanned and calloused, slightly warm, which unexpectedly soothed me. Then again, at this rate anything Harry did would probably soothe me.

When he gripped the pads of my fingers, the contrast between our hands held my attention for a split second. My hands were chilly and pale, and my fingers were long and slim. My knuckles were red, but I don’t know how they became so scraped. 

I kept my head down, watching our entwined hands. 

Then, I heard Harry’s raspy voice say something surprising. “Draco”. This time it was me starting, and I unconsciously tightened Potter’s grip on the pads of my fingers by twirling them, which in-turn forced his long hands to envelop my slightly smaller ones.

Looking up, I tried to think clearly, tried to muster up the energy to get up, to do something, instead of lying there, in Harry’s arms, my hands in his warm ones, but I couldn’t do anything but tip my head back and concentrate on calming down and trying to stop crying.

I didn’t know how many minutes had passed, but Harry’s voice jolted me out of what seemed to be hours of seamless, directionless thinking.

“Malfoy, I don’t know whether you’re asleep or not, but I know for sure that you’re not okay, and that’s fine. I promise. Draco, you’ll be okay, you’ll make it through this. Please, let me help? Please”.

Then, without thinking, I sat up slowly, and pressed my mouth to his, effectively shutting him up.

I kissed Harry Potter.


End file.
